Yes, the Snowden leaks last June confirmed what many people already suspected – that the NSA and GCHQ, along with their “five eyes” partners, had constructed an enormous, globe-spanning surveillance mechanism that routinely captured the bulk of our electronic communications (email, SMS, videochats), our photographs and buying habits, and through networked algorithmic CCTV and Automatic Number Plate Recognition cameras (ANPR) tracked our movements through public space; that it worked with large Internet Providers to harvest our online search histories, the length of time we spend on sites, our browsing habits, our “likes”, our circles of friends. But most of us, if we thought about it at all, were content with the official line, ventriloquized by William Hague shortly after the Snowden revelations broke: “If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear”.
It turns out that “surveillance” is a Romantic word – its first use in English contexts was in the Monthly Review in 1799. The newness of the term “surveillance” to signify an ontological condition – that of being “under the eye of the police” – was still being registered in Charles James’s Military Dictionary of 1816. In May that year, Hansard recorded a House of Lords debate on the Alien Bill that should sound very familiar. Lord Milton and the Solicitor-General tussled over the extensiveness of the “system of surveillance it was necessary to establish for the security of the realm”. As far as I’m aware, it’s the first recorded instance of the now ubiquitous slant rhyme of surveillance and security.
This week, I’ll be talking about Keats and surveillance at the University of Cyprus's Romanticism and the Future conference. My focus will be on ways in which Romanticism continues to insist on its pertinence to current debates about the chilling experience of surveillance and the wider social impacts of the erosion of privacy.